


When I was just a kid, I

by Nasyat



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Amusement Parks, Hallucinogens, I imagine Maxwell began loosing his identity in his late 30’s, M/M, Maxwell Is Secretly A Junkie, William is pretty much gone now but something still emerges, Wilson Doesn’t Approve, from time to time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-01 02:45:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13988832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nasyat/pseuds/Nasyat
Summary: Always thought that things would change but, they never did. Maxwell eats a ‘particularly great’ mushroom. Wilson plays along.





	When I was just a kid, I

**Author's Note:**

> A ficlet to practice English writing and take my mind off the illness. Inspired by the song “Lonely Town” by Brandon Flowers

Shuffling side by side down the Pigcity road; Maxwell clutches the smaller, tenacious hand tightly in his. The magician ate a particularly great mushroom, and an hour later he is engaging in a full-on lightbulb trip. The man clearly sees himself as someone else, walking down an amusement park, eating corn dogs - fried frog legs on a stick, and laughing as stupidly as one in his position can muster. Wilson, who plays the role of a ‘date’, is fuming silently, but doesn’t quite have the heart to tie the other to the straw roll like he should, and then scream mean, but true things at him ‘till his throat is sore, so that the junky doesn’t have the nerve to ingest hallucinogenic substances (which he tends to seek out and consume on the sly) ever again. 

They’ve been feeding these pigs for manure for months now and became quite the acquaintances. Wilson did some renovating for their homes, and hang little tin lanterns along the road, which Maxwell now views as amusement rides’ lights and is laughing happily. “Look, Wilson! The carousel!” He says, pointing at the abandoned spider nest (they supplanted the spiders with poison a while ago, but Wilson still feels ill at ease at the nest’s presence. He presses the older man’s hand tighter in his and says,) “Sure, Maxwell.” “My name’s not Maxwell, duh! It’s William!” “...Sure, William.” It strikes him that Maxwell still recognizes him as Wilson though, and the scientist wonders for a moment what the other actually sees. 

They keep walking, and Maxwell is staggering. Wilson won’t be surprised if he stands on all fours and starts howling at the moon, or vomits in the nearest bushes. They scientist thinks about playing along. “Want some ice cream, William?” The other gives him the silliest, warmest smile in existence, and wraps his arm around the smaller man tightly. “Sure, Wilson.” The younger rummages in his bag and fishes out some ice in a papyrus cone. Giving it to Maxwell, Wilson wonders how ‘far’ the other actually is. 

“I wonder if there’s a Ferris wheel here,” says the magician, licking at the ice thoughtfully. The scientist chuckles. “We don’t have any money anyway.” “True... Besides, I wouldn’t entrust your life to a rickety structure,” he slurs a bit, “just to see the the night sky and the sparkling vicinity.” “I’m touched,” says Wilson sarcastically, but he is. 

They reach the end of the road, and Maxwell sways in front of him, holding his shoulders. “You know, Wilson, I’m right here, right on the palm of your hand,” he garbles, and Wilson can’t help but laugh genially and pat his cheek. “Sure, old boy.” “I’m not old! I’m less than forty,” says the man resentfully, and the scientist laughs again. “You’re definitely over sixty. Come on, Maxwell let’s go back.” He regrets it, when Maxwell doesn’t hold his hand and looks as miserable as a kitten stuck in a pouring rain. “Oh, come on now.”

When they reach the camp, Maxwell just walks straight to his straw roll and curls on it, pressing his head between his hands. Wilson throws another log into the fire, and begins his preparations for the night. “What’s wrong, Maxwell? Didn’t we-“ “Shut up, Higgsbury. I hope you had your fun.” Wilson sighs: here he is, the angry and bitter man he came to know. The scientist crouches next to the crooked figure on the straw and touches upon his shoulder questioningly; Maxwell flinches. “What?!” “How are you feeling? Are you alright?” “Why do you care, even if I were to die from intoxication?” The man is regressing, and Wilson sighs - again. “Stop being a baby. Come on.” He urges him to uncurl and looks at the other’s sickly-pale, exhausted features. “How are you feeling, Maxwell?” He repeats, and the magician turns his wet face away, fluttering his eyelashes. “My stomach hurts...” He whispers, and Wilson lays his hand on the other’s sunken belly. The palm begins a circular motion over the shirt’s fabric, and Maxwell exhales, shakily. “If you’re acting like a baby, then I might as well treat you as one,” says Wilson; it’s an excuse. Maxwell doesn’t argue.


End file.
